


in the best way possible

by Yellow



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: :'), F/F, everyone lives au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow/pseuds/Yellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurley’s been Lieutenant long enough to know that she’s a good cop. She’s caught plenty of criminals who’ve looked down on her because she’s small, or a woman, or a halfling. She’s caught plenty more who didn’t, but who made other mistakes. Obvious stuff. She’s even caught a few that made barely any mistakes at all. But only a few, and Sloane is good.</p><p>or, a history of a relationship, with some sort of happily-ever-after</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the best way possible

Hurley’s been Lieutenant long enough to know that she’s a good cop. She’s caught plenty of criminals who’ve looked down on her because she’s small, or a woman, or a halfling. She’s caught plenty more who didn’t, but who made other mistakes. Obvious stuff. She’s even caught a few that made barely any mistakes at all. But only a few, and Sloane is _good._

It’s been a week of tailing and Hurley has nothing. Sloane is clean. She leaves her home, a garage in the south side of the city, goes and talks with some people, checks on the poorest people in her neighborhood, and goes home. No cause for a warrant. The people she talks to are careful, too. She breaks off to tail them instead, but they wander around aimlessly long enough that she’s forced to choose who she wants to follow: them, or Sloane. The Goldcliff militia is small and this was supposed to be a simpler job. Hurley’s on her own, and they’re good enough to know she’s here.

It’s not like Sloane is hurting people. All they really know is that she’s suspected to be the lynchpin of a loose confederation of thieves, centered in the south of the city. So, the tailing. Sloane fits the description perfectly, with a base in the south side.

The problem is she can’t prove it.

               Hurley sighs. Once or twice she’s managed to surprise Sloane or her colleagues a little, make them sure they were alone for a few minutes. But then there’s a telltale hitch in their shoulders, or a stiffening of their pace. Sloane is the best at hiding it, but Hurley’s attentive.

               At least they’re letting her tail them, she thinks. She wonders what the point is. Most gangs would have tried to kill her by now. These people know they have a cop on their tail and they’re allowing it.

               Are they that confident or that stupid? Hurley pushes hair out of her face, frustrated. Sloane has just been walking aimlessly for the last hour.

Sloane turns a corner, stops in her tracks, and looks straight at Hurley.

“You can come out. I know you know I know you’re there, anyway.”

Hurley doesn’t move.

“Look, you want a confession, right. You want something. You’re not gonna get it this way.” She starts walking again. “Let’s have a chat.”            

Hurley pauses, just for a moment. Then she follows.

***

               Sloane stops somewhere in the rougher part of the south side. She flings her garage door halfway open.

Hurley raises an eyebrow. “What’s your move here?”

Sloane hangs off the edge of the door. “You haven’t arrested me yet, Officer.”    

“It’s Lieutenant. You haven’t done anything illegal yet.”

Sloane grins again, with a little more humor. “The night is young.”

Hurley purses her lips. “Are we going inside?”

               Sloane throws the door up and walks inside. There’s a battlewagon in the center of the room, half-covered by a tarp. There’s barely room for a small bed.

Hurley’s mouth opens, despite herself.

               “You race.”

               “Yeah,” Sloane says. She kicks the tires of the wagon. “Been saving up a long time for this.” She grins. Hurley flattens her mouth into a line.

               “Yeah, yeah,” Sloane says, waving a hand. “Illegal. But look,” she says, fixing her eyes on Hurley. They’re even bluer up close. “If I win big in the races, I won’t have to steal anymore,” she says. “I might even have enough money to start actually changing things around here, instead of just slapping some gauze on the wound. So to speak.”

               Hurley purses her lips. “What about the rest of your gang?”

“The races pay very well.”

Hurley thinks. “And you stopped me because…you need a partner.”

               Sloane shrugs, and the corner of her mouth ticks up. “Look, we both have something to gain here. I get to race, and you get me to stop stealing.”

               Hurley sighs. “You don’t even know if I’m any good.”

               “I know. But you seem like a competent cop, at the very least,” Sloane says. “Why do you think I let you tail me for a week?”

               “Not competent enough to implicate you in a crime,” Hurley grumbles, under her breath. Sloane hears, and laughs like it was startled out of her.

               “I’m the best, Lieutenant. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

               Hurley frowns even harder. Sighs again. “Your…association looks out for people who can’t feed themselves?” Sloane nods, seemingly a little surprised she asked. “How long could you continue doing that if I told you to stop…operations now?”

               She hums. “A month?”

               “And the next race is in?”

               “A month.” Sloane grins. Hurley starts wondering if she’s always this happy or if she’s just really enjoying messing with her. She suspects it’s mainly the latter.

               Hurley thinks a moment, then nods, sharply. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You and I will train all month and we’ll race not to win, but to place. Get some money. If it turns out you’re wrong and we can’t win, we’ll come up with a new plan. But no more theft. I have more than enough to get backup in here.” Hurley nods, sharp. “Tomorrow, then.”

               Sloane nods, her grin coming back, full force. Hurley starts for the door.

               “You think we can do this in a month?” Hurley turns and looks at her.

               “I’m good, right?” she says. “And you’re the best.”

               Sloane’s grin gets a little less feral, a little more excited.

               “Hell yes.”

               Hurley gives her a two fingered wave and walks out.

***

               Sloane doesn’t believe in half-measures, and especially this close to the race, Hurley’s inclined to agree with her. So: they’re going to practice daily. Starting today.

Hurley’s never driven anything this big before, just the smaller, slower militia wagons. Worse still, this is super illegal. Super, super illegal. Sloane reaches over her to start the wagon and laughs when she sees Hurley’s face.

               “Nervous?”

               Hurley harrumphs. She sits in the passenger’s seat and carefully watches as Sloane drives to the edge of the city.

They swap places.

               “See the cliff there?”

               Hurley nods.

               “Get as close as you can as fast as you can without going over.”

               Hurley swallows, then her fingers land on the gear shifter. “Got it.”

               She guns it.        

***

               They swerve to a stop, feet from the cliff. Goldcliff looms behind them, and before them is the most stars Hurley’s ever seen. She shuts the engine off, a little stunned. Then the only sounds are the river below them and their own breath, coming fast.

               Hurley glances at Sloane.

               Sloane’s still looking at the edge of the cliff.

               “Holy shit,” she says. Then she turns, eyes gleaming. It’s the most animated Hurley’s ever heard her, the calm, cool edge ripped away by sheer enthusiasm. “You-you’re good.”

               Hurley’s mouth quirks up.            

               “You really think so?”    

               “Yeah!” Sloane says, throwing her head back to look up at the stars. She laughs. “I knew you’d be good.”

               Hurley feels herself turn red. Sloane’s hair shines in the starlight and Hurley can’t quite look away.

               Sloane flicks her eyes over and Hurley looks forward, quickly. Sloane coughs.

               “We should get headed back, right? You have work in the morning?”      

               Hurley jumps a little.

               “Yeah! Yeah. Work, work, work, that’s me,” she says, and Sloane laughs again.

               “Fine,” she says, letting her eyes close. “But you’re driving.”

***

               They practice day after day. Hurley’s apparently a natural, but they’re still going to be lucky to place in Sloane’s cobbled-together machine. She can see how proud Sloane is that she managed to build it, but even Sloane admits it’s not going to stand up to the well-funded teams. Not quite. If Hurley manages to practice enough, with a lot of luck, it’s not impossible they could pull off an upset.  

               But it’ll be a lot of luck. She goes over what Sloane’s teaching her about wagon design in her head as she walks to the south side of the city, thinking about how they could stretch prize money to invest some back into the wagon. Well, tomorrow they’ll know for sure how much they’ll have to work with.

               She walks up to the garage as the sky is just darkening and knocks on the huge door. There’s a scuffling sound, then Sloane calls, “Come in!”

               Sloane is standing with her back to the door and she pulls a loose shirt over her head just as Hurley ducks in. Hurley stiffens and averts her eyes, heat rising in her cheeks, but Sloane doesn’t seem to notice, turning to greet her.

               “One last test drive?” she says.

               Hurley grins. Sloane’s growing on her, but she’s been taken with driving from day one.

               “Sure.”

***

               They’re sitting on the hood of the wagon, dangling their feet over the edge of the cliff. It’s stupid, and dangerous, but it’s stupid and dangerous in the _exciting_ way. Hurley leans back on her hands and looks up at the stars, grinning. Everything smells like exhaust and gas. The hood is warm. She sighs happily and turns to look at Sloane, who is looking back at her, almost proud. Her eyes flit down to Sloane’s lips and she can’t seem to look away.

               Sloane’s hand lands on her chin and tilts her face up. Hurley’s heart stops. Then she feels something soft on her face.

               Sloane’s eyes are fixed on Hurley’s cheek and she’s using the edge of her sleeve to wipe Hurley’s cheek.

               “You had, uh, grease,” Sloane says.

               “Oh,” Hurley manages, feeling Sloane’s cool fingers on her chin.

               “There,” Sloane says, and pulls back.

               The moment stretches between them, and Hurley thinks the air is stifling, now, after the cool touch of Sloane’s fingers.

               Sloane is silent for another minute, then says, “I think you’re ready.”

               “Really?” Hurley’s heart leaps. She surprises herself, a little, with how excited she is.

               “Still not better than me,” Sloane says, grinning, and Hurley rolls her eyes.

               “We’ve got tomorrow, still. One more day for the student to surpass the master.”

               “We do,” Sloane says, soft.

               Hurley pretends not to notice. It’s only been a month. She wasn’t supposed to get-attached. To racing, or, she starts to realize, to Sloane.

               She looks at Sloane. She’s looking up at the stars again.

               “Why do you trust me to help you do this?”

               “Huh?”

               “This is your ticket out.” It’s important, Hurley thinks. And I’m a cop.

               Sloane scoffs. “I don’t want out,” she says. “I want better. For all of the city. What’s the point if the people who fed me when I was a kid are still stuck on street corners.”

               “Then, even more so.” She files that piece of information about Sloane away, for dissection later.

               “I had to trust somebody,” Sloane says. “At least if this goes bad I’ll just end up in jail, not dead.”

               She looks at Hurley. “You think I made a bad choice?”

               Hurley swallows. It’s not a threat. It hurts worse than that, the weight of the trust Sloane’s given her.

               “No. I don’t.”

***

               That first race with Sloane is the best day of Hurley’s life.

               She loves driving with Sloane, and it’s not like Sloane doesn’t push her when they’re out at night. But here, there’s a layer on tension over everything that’s addictive. It’s the thrill of a good chase and the feeling of wind whipping by her at the same time.

               Sloane perches on the back of the car like a real raven would. Hurley grips the wheel a little too tightly.

               “You good?” Sloane yells, just before the horns go off.

               The horns sound, blowing away any response. Hurley floors it.

               “All right!” Sloane yells, and readies her spear.

               The car they scraped together is good, as good as they could make it, but Hurley is even better than her equipment. She uses its small size to zip through tight spaces between cars and darts back and forth to throw attackers off. Sloane pushes a few cars away with her staff and fires off a few small spells, but mainly stands on their car with a little smile on her face.

               They make it.

               The horns sound. Second.

               Hurley brakes, a little too hard, and looks back to Sloane, grinning ear to ear. Hurley jumps out of the car and Sloane lands silently behind her, looking as if she’d burst.

               “Second place! We got second place!” Sloane looks, for a second, as if she’s thinking about picking Hurley up. She instead puts a hand out. Hurley grabs it. It’s warm and a little callused-her staff hand.

               “Good work,” Hurley says, feeling stuffy.

               Sloane laughs, delighted. “Good work, Lieutenant,” she says, drawing herself up and taking her hand back to salute with.

               Hurley feels her face turn warm. She lets herself smile through the embarrassment and salutes back.

***

               Something changes.

               They keep winning, but little by little, Hurley notices more dirty looks than usual after the races. She tries to joke about them to Sloane, but she shuts down and walks away.

               Sloane’s been doing that a lot lately.

               Hurley is still just doing this because they’re helping people who are slipping through the cracks. She’s doing her job by keeping Sloane out of trouble. She doesn’t care what Sloane thinks of her. They just have to be able to work together.

               She doesn’t even try to ask about Sloane’s new magic. She puts on her mask, watches Sloane pass her by without a word, and gets to work.

***

They’re close to the end of the race. There’s a newer team that’s been tailing them doggedly and finally, they make a move; Hurley narrowly steers out of the way of the wagon’s horns as they try to ram into them. She can’t help it; she yells to Sloane, “They’re using my own mascot against me!” She gets a twitch of the lips, and thrills. She pointedly does not think about the old days.

               They try to ram the wagon again. Sloane narrows her eyes, and three vine whips shoot out from their wagon and puncture two of its tires. The wagon goes skidding sideways. Three people jump. Hurley hears the last two riders scream.

               Sloane yells something unintelligible over the wind, gesturing at Hurley, and she turns her attention back to the road just in time to miss another wagon. She feels sick. Maybe they’d be okay? She’d seen worse crashes.

               Hurley hazards a look over her shoulder just in time for the wagon to explode. She doesn’t hear the bodies hit the ground, but she imagines the wet thunk and almost makes herself sick. She glances at the road, and then back. Two of the three jumpers made it; the last is alive, she thinks, but hurt.  She swears she hears one of the others wail. She thinks about what she’d do if that was Sloane. She’s almost sick again.

               Hurley glances back again. Sloane seems calm, like nothing unusual happened. She dodges a car and then looks behind one more time at the man in the goat mask, legs bent out of shape. The red soaking into the sand around him.

               Hurley yells, “Sloane, take the wheel!”

               Sloane gestures angrily at first, not hearing. She comes closer to try to catch what Hurley’s saying and Hurley climbs out of the driver’s seat, pushing Sloane into it as she climbs by. She can hear Sloane cursing but she has no choice but to grab the wheel. Hurley jumps.

***

               Hurley worries she gave herself away, even though her mask stayed on-her abilities are fairly rare. But the hurt man’s teammates thank her with tears in their voices and she hopes no one will hear about the halfling with the glowing hands. She leaves for the finish line as soon as he’s sitting up and breathing more steadily.

               “He needs to rest for a few days, but his legs should be okay to walk home,” she says, exhausted.

               They thank her again, the man clasping her hand tightly before she leaves. She fixes the image of his teammates hugging him in her mind and thinks. Why did Sloane do that? _How_ did Sloane do that? And why wasn’t she horrified?

               Hurley thinks back to other races. The dirty looks from people dragging hurt teammates.

               Had she-how much has she not seen?

               She hopes she’s wrong. She hopes it was a mistake. A first-time thing, something they can talk about.

               If it’s not…well. Then Sloane has truly gotten too close, and Hurley’s been a horrible cop.

               She keeps walking.

***

               She’s pissed off when she gets to the finish line and finds out Sloane didn’t even wait for her. She walks back to the city, anger growing as she replays the race in her head. Sloane didn’t even- she didn’t even care she killed those people! But also-that’s not Sloane. She can be reckless, sure, and rude and cheeky-but not when it’s important. Even before they met, Sloane wouldn’t _hurt someone_ like that.

               Hurley scowls at the garage door.

               “Sloane!”

               No response. She pounds on it.

               “I know you’re in there!”

               Some muffled cursing and then Sloane slams the garage door up, clearly not stepping aside to let Hurley enter.

               Some fragile part of Hurley freezes. It’s like that, then.

               “What was that,” Hurley hisses.

               Sloane raises an eyebrow.

               “You hurt people,” Hurley yells, voice cracking. Then she glances down the street. “We might want to have this discussion _inside_.”

               Sloane hovers a second more, then takes her usual spot upside down on the bed. Hurley slams the door down behind her and turns on Sloane.

               “You’re not even going to sit up for this? You know how I feel about hurting people, Sloane. I thought you felt that way too!”

               “They were in the way,” Sloane says, flat.

               “He would have _died._ ”

               “We needed to win the race.” Sloane shrugs.

               Hurley is suddenly very, very calm.

               “No, we didn’t, Sloane,” she says. “Not as much as he needed to go home to his family.”

               She takes a single step forward.

               “I don’t think this is you,” she says. She takes another step. “What’s wrong? We can talk-”

               Vines shoot at her and Hurley barely dodges to the left. She lands in a defensive stance and stares at Sloane, open-mouthed.

               Sloane is staring at her outstretched hand. She’s finally upright.

               “I think you should go,” she says, voice shaking.

               Hurley purses her lips. She looks at the thorns on the vines. None of this is right-how did Sloane even _do_ that?- but, for now. For today. Maybe Sloane needs some space.

               “Okay,” Hurley says, slow.

               She edges towards the door, one eye on Sloane. Sloane doesn’t move. She looks scared, and Hurley aches, but Hurley’s scared too. She needs to think.

               Still.

               “You know where to find me,” she calls, softly, and then shuts the door behind her.

***

               She hears nothing for one day, two days, three. Four, five. It’s been a week when the Captain calls her down to his office.

               “Someone calling themselves “the Raven” just robbed a bank. We’re getting some strange reports from the scene, so I’d like you to go check it out.”

               Hurley pales.

               Captain Captain Bane glances up at her.

               “Anything wrong?”

               “N-no,” Hurley says. “I’m on it.”

               She leaves the office and quietly shuts the door behind her. Breathes. Wishes she’d have stayed that night. Then she gets going.

***

               It’s a game of cat-and-mouse that surpasses the week she’d chased Sloane before they’d met. Sloane is smart, and equipped with god-like powers and a skewed sense of morality she’s even smarter. More dangerous. It takes tailing Sloane for a week and a half before Hurley manages to corner her in a warehouse, storing some of Goldcliff’s most precious art that’s off rotation in the museum.

               Sloane’s bent over a box.

               “Sloane,” Hurley calls. Sloane startles and almost drops a vase.

               “Hurley,” she says, almost nervously.

               Best to start by talking, right?

               “You’ve robbed four banks and six art museums in the last two weeks,” Hurley says. “I thought you were done with that.”

               “It isn’t for me,” she says, half turning towards Hurley. She’s wearing her mask, and Hurley suddenly has a lump in her throat.

               “Then who?” Hurley asks, edging carefully closer.

               “Everyone!” Sloane exclaims. “Look-look at the people who watch the races. They have all this money, and power, and they do nothing to help the people below them-they just watch us kill each other out there.”

               “Sloane,” Hurley starts. “Seven people have been injured since you’ve started doing all this. Maybe the city’s a mess, yeah, but we can talk about that. Whatever you’re doing isn’t helping.” She steps forwards again.

               Sloane turns all the way around. Her eyes are practically glowing. It’s beautiful-Sloane is beautiful-but she doesn’t seem to be looking at Hurley. She doesn’t seem to be looking at anything. Hurley shivers.

               Sloane makes no attempt to move. Hurley creeps closer.

               “We can talk about this.”

               Sloane’s eyes focus.

               “Hurley,” she breathes. Hurley inhales, shaky.

               “Yeah, it’s me,” she says. “What’s up?”

               “I-something’s wrong. With me,” Sloane says. “All that stuff I told you-that’s not me.”      

               “You don’t believe it?” Hurley asks, moving closer.

               “Yeah, yeah of course I believe it,” Sloane says, “but…” She trails off, frustrated. Starts again. “I tried to go visit you, apologize, and it wouldn’t let me.” She pauses. “I didn’t want to hurt those people,” she says. She clenches her hand into a fist, and Hurley sees her tremble, once, twice.

               “What wouldn’t let you?” Hurley asks, tensing. “Sloane-what’s going on?”

               Hurley reaches out to touch Sloane’s arm, and thorns shoot out at her, just like before. Hurley curses and grabs her arm. She’s bleeding.

               Sloane doesn’t even seem to notice. Her eyes are glowing again, and she’s standing at her full height. Any sign of hesitation has disappeared. Hurley jumps back and shifts into a fighting stance.

               “Sloane, I’m here as part of the Goldcliff Militia and I’m here to take you in.” Hurley runs a hand through her hair. “ _Talk_ to me.”

               Sloane aims lightning at Hurley, and Hurley dodges by a hair. The scent of smoke fills the room as the boxes catch on fire. Hurley leaps at Sloane, trying to knock her off balance, but Sloane lashes out with thorns and Hurley slams into a wall. She feels more than sees Sloane leave. There’s a wind, then Sloane is gone.

               Hurley curls into herself for a moment, then stands. Looks at the gash on her arm and tries to hold it closed, hopes it doesn’t scar too badly. She drags the only box yet to catch fire outside of the warehouse, then surveys the area for anyone who might get caught in the blaze. The warehouse is sufficiently isolated, so she calls into headquarters for fire assistance. Until they get there, she sits down, and watches some of the most precious artwork in Goldcliff go up in smoke.

 

               She can’t find Sloane after that. No matter how hot the trail gets, Sloane disappears just before Hurley arrives. Hurley hates it. Hurley wishes more than anything that everything could go back to the way it was, that she could figure out what she did wrong.  

               She’s been avoiding the garage. She’s not supposed to know who the Raven is. She’s scared Sloane will be there, and even more terrified she won’t be.

               But two days later, she goes to the garage, kicks open the lock. She sits there, leaned up against their car, for hours. She waits all night. Nothing.

               The sun shines through the cracks where the door doesn’t quite meet the walls, and Hurley is exhausted. She doesn’t know where Sloane is, or if she’s okay, and she’s tired. It’s her day off.

               She doesn’t let herself cry, but she does crawl into Sloane’s bed, and for just long enough to fall asleep, she pretends Sloane is there.

***

               Hurley doesn’t need help. This is her problem, Sloane is her problem, and she will deal with her. She’ll save her.

               Magnus, Merle and Taako get themselves involved anyway, and Hurley’s fond, despite herself. And they told her Sloane was still _Sloane._ She holds tight to that as she waits for updates and tunes the battlewagon to perfection. She wonders where Sloane’s sleeping. She wonders why she’s kept her raven mask. She lies in Sloane’s bed and hopes she’ll be woken up by someone dragging themselves inside.

***

               They win the race, they win, and Hurley bursts with joy, until Sloane rides over the cliff.

               Hurley is tired. She can’t keep doing this. She can’t watch Sloane hurt herself over and over and over. She’ll save her or take them both down trying.

               Hurley takes off her mask, and goes with the boys to do what needs to be done.

***

               She finally sees Sloane, not the vine monster, but Sloane. As much of her is left. She’s covered in silverpoint, and Hurley’s heart sinks. They’re never going to be able to do it now. If they try using fire again, they’ll burn Sloane, and Hurley’d rather die than hurt her.

               She looks at Magnus, Merle, and Taako. They’ve done enough.

               She herds them over to the edge, then hugs Taako, slipping her jacket onto him. He hugs back so sincerely that she wants to cry.

Hurley takes a breath, then pushes them off the platform. She turns to Sloane, claps her hands together, and jumps.  

               -only to be caught mid-air by Magnus.

               “What?” she yelps. Hurley looks down to see his feet tangled in vines. Merle and Taako start climbing back up the platform, cradled by vines, as Hurley struggles.

               Merle scrambles over the edge a second later and dusts off his shoulders, grumbling. He puts a hand on her shoulder. Taako clambers up and hugs her from behind.

               “We’ve lost enough people,” says Merle.

               Magnus looks at Sloane. “She’s your family,” he says, then grins at Hurley. “We’ll save her.”          

               “Yeah,” says Taako, into her shoulder. “Have a little more faith.”  He straightens. “Besides, you’re a fan-favorite, we can’t kill you off.”

               Hurley puts a hand over her face and sobs out a laugh. She takes a deep breath.

               “Okay. Okay, guys. What now?”

               Magnus says, “Well, I tried hitting her with my axe, like, a lot.”

               Merle puts a hand on his chin, deep in thought. Taako doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

Hurley slowly closes her eyes, then opens them.

“You said you’ve seen stuff like this before- what happened then?”          

Their faces fall. Hurley’s never seen them so serious, not even during the race. She kind of regrets asking.

“My cousin…” Merle starts. “Well, he.” He tears up and Taako pats him on the shoulder. Hurley glances back at Sloan, tries not to start crying too.

“Well, we learned what _not_ to do,” Magnus announces, and Taako nods sagely.

“Yeah, don’t shoot her in the back,” he trills. Magnus elbows him.

“But,” Merle says. “Before that…I almost talked him down. You know. Rockseeker to Rockseeker.”

One by one they turn to look at Hurley.

“I’ve tried talking,” Hurley says.

Merle winks at Taako, who misses it completely.

“But have you,” he drawls, “tried _talking.”_

“What,” Hurley says.

“Oh!” Magnus says.

“What if we tried talking to her?” Taako asks.

“I cast,” Merle says, then pauses for effect. “Zone of truth.”

               Magnus turns to Hurley. When he speaks, it’s not quite as brash as usual.

               “Hurley, how do you feel about Sloane?”              

               Hurley feels the words pressing on her stomach like a weight. She thinks about sleeping alone in Sloane’s garage and what might have happened had she just leaned over one of those nights out racing, just leaned over and-

               “I love her.”        

               Merle cheers. Hurley claps her hands over her mouth and turns steadily redder.

               The writhing vines pause a moment, and then curl tighter around Sloane, writhing more erratically.

               Merle pumps his arms in the air. “Another win for the Zone of Truth!”

               “We haven’t won yet,” Taako says, prim, and sidles over to Hurley. “What kind of love, dear.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Tell Taako everything.”            

               Hurley wants to laugh, desperately, but she’s also worried and embarrassed and _tired of this shit_ and she’s afraid if she takes her hands off her mouth she might say something like-

               “ _Love_ love!” Hurley shakes her head. “But, I mean, I-I just want Sloane to be safe and _talk_ to me, before this happens,” she says, gesturing to Sloane’s current state. “You don’t have to love me _-_ I just want my friend back. _”_

               Hurley pants.

               The vines pause a little longer this time, then whip out in a circle before coiling back around Sloane. Hurley can just make out her face through the thorns and it looks as if her brow is furrowed. The vines lash out again, and she twitches. They pull back to her.

               “I really miss you, Sloane,” she says, quiet. Then, “Racing isn’t the same without you.”

               Sloane shudders. The vines whip out erratically, coming closer and closer to where Hurley’s perched at the edge of the platform.

               Hurley yells, “I want my best friend back!”

               The vines whip out, wicked fast, and stop centimeters from Hurley’s face. She hears Merle start mumbling a spell under his breath.

               Then Sloane jerks violently and the vines fall to the ground, greying. She sways.

               “Sloane!” Hurley screams.            

               “Ta-” Magnus yells. Hurley whips around and sees Taako level his umbrella at Sloane. He casts Levitate just before Sloane falls on the thorns, and she floats, unconscious, three feet above the vines.

               Hurley bites her lip and bounces on her toes. She eyes the vines, judging just how deadly it would be to leap across them. Magnus puts a large hand on her shoulder.

               “Don’t even think about it,” he says.        

               Merle finishes the incantation and the vines burn to nothing. Around them, the tornado is losing speed. Hurley starts across the platform and it lurches.

               Magnus’s hand touches her back but he doesn’t manage to grab her. She takes a fistful of vines and watches Sloane bobbing in the air.

               “Taako!” Hurley screams.

               “It’s hard to keep a spell going when you’re hanging on for dear life!” he yells back.

               The platform sways again. Magnus yells, “Get ready!”

               Then it all collapses. Hurley lets go and makes a dive for Sloane. She catches her in midair and takes a single moment to savor the smell of her hair before they all die.

               Then-

                               -they’re floating again, slowly falling to the ground.

               Taako’s holding a feather duster. Hurley cannot even bring herself to interrogate that.

               She clutches Sloane and breathes.

***

               They touch down and sigh in relief almost in unison. Hurley cradles Sloane in her lap, not caring what the boys think.

               They approach carefully.

               “Hurley, the thing that did all this? It’s the belt.”

               She looks down.

               Sloane _is_ wearing a belt. She looks back up at Magnus. He looks tired.

               “And we need to be the ones to take it,” Merle says. “Or else this might happen to you.”

               Hurley nods, slowly.

               “Okay.”

               Merle reaches down and pulls, but the belt doesn’t give. Sloane is pulled up by the waist. Magnus furrows his brow.

               “Let me try,” he says.

               He tugs even harder, hard enough that Hurley pulls back a little.

               “Maybe,” he says, slowly. “Maybe she has to give it up.”

               They all look at Sloane.

               Hurley slaps her face. Gently.

               She coughs and scrunches her eyes up.

               “Sloane,” Hurley says, somewhere between a sigh of relief and an admonishment.

               Sloane opens her eyes, and they’re still not right, but they’re better. She looks up at Hurley.

               “Hurley?”

               “Sloane, you have to give up the belt,” Hurley says, voice shaking a little.

               “I can’t,” she says, matter of fact.

               “Why not.” Hurley’s actually getting angry. “We, we beat you in the race- we proved you’re not a god, Sloane!”

               Sloane tries to sit up and then falls back into Hurley’s lap.

               “I can control it,” she hisses.

               “No you _can’t_ ,” Hurley snaps, waving her arms. Her sleeve falls and the gash on her arm hovers inches from Sloane’s face.

               They both fall silent. Hurley feels Sloane’s breathing pick up.

               “You never-I didn’t know I _hurt_ you,” Sloane says.

               Hurley wants to tell her that her arm doesn’t matter, that it hurts so much more to see Sloane out of control. She wants to tell her that she almost died to save her, and she would try again.

               She swallows.

               “You don’t need it,” Hurley says, soft.

               Sloane leans her head back against Hurley’s leg.

               “I _do_ ,” she says, voice thick. “Someone need to fix this city.”

               Sloane looks up at Hurley beseechingly, and Hurley swallows again.

               “Someone like you,” she says.

               Sloane’s eyes light up. “Exactly.”

               Taako, Merle and Magnus are being uncharacteristically quiet, but Hurley doesn’t dare look away from Sloane. Hurley’s losing her. This close, she can almost feel the pull of the belt. The call to greatness. The…the-

               Hurley blinks. She shifts, deliberately, so her arm is in Sloane’s line of sight, and Sloane flinches.

               “I never wanted to leave you,” Sloane says, quiet. “I just…”

               “You wanted to help people,” Hurley says. Her heart aches. She runs a hand through Sloane’s hair and Sloane closes her eyes.

               Magnus takes a half-step forward.

               Sloane’s eyes jerk open and a thicket surrounds her and Hurley. Hurley snaps, “Sloane!” but Sloane is almost gone again. Hurley pulls Sloane out of her lap, holds her up, looks her in the eye.

               “Sloane.”

               “I am a god,” she says, in a voice that is not her own.

               “No, you aren’t.” Hurley looks at her. Bags under her eyes. Can barely hold herself up. “You’re exhausted,” Hurley says, gently. “This is killing you.”

               Sloane blinks.

               “We can go back to your garage, and you can sleep. And then we can come up with a plan. But you have to give them the belt.”

               Sloane’s head is rolling forward, and Hurley tilts her chin up with her hand.

               “I can’t,” Sloane slurs.

               “You can,” Hurley says, firm. “You’re-you’ve been through so much. You might be the right person to help the city, but this isn’t you. You know that.” Hurley pauses. “You’ve controlled it this long. It’s time to let it go.”

               Sloane looks at Hurley and then reaches down to the belt, hands shaking.

               “I _can’t_ ,” she moans.

               Hurley tilts Sloane’s head so they’re eye to eye.

               “Do you trust me?”

               Sloane nods.

               “Then let me help.”

               She takes her hand off Sloane’s chin and helps Sloane’s shuddering fingers undo the knots. Then she withdraws. Sloane has to do the last bit.

               The thorns are withering around them. Now it’s Merle who stands just outside of the barrier.

               Sloane reaches up, belt in her hand. Tears are streaming from her eyes and her arms are quivering with effort. She gives the belt to Merle.

               “Here,” she says. She smiles. Then she passes out, falling back into Hurley’s lap.

***

               Hurley breathes. Hurley sits there and feels Sloane’s heart beating until she can open her eyes again. Hurley is getting very tired of Sloane passing out.

               The belt is gone when she opens her eyes.

               “Is it...?” she asks.

               Merle nods, grinning. Magnus has stolen Taako’s hat and is trying to ruffle his hair.

               Sloane is still unconscious, lying awkwardly in her lap.

               “Will she,” Hurley starts, quiet. “Will she be okay?”

               Everyone gets quiet.

               Magnus scratches his head. “Well, like we said, this has been unusually successful.”

               Taako sits down in front of Sloane and Hurley, legs crossed. He turns back to Merle and raises an eyebrow. Merle winks. Then he looks at Hurley and says, imperious, “Didn’t I say everything would be okay? Heal her.”

               Hurley clasps her shaking hands together until they glow. She touches them to Sloane’s shoulders and closes her eyes.

               She gasps.

               Sloane’s insides feel like they’ve been rubbed raw, and Hurley’s suddenly unsurprised she’s been passing out so much. She’s a little surprised she’s alive.

               Hurley can’t reach up to wipe the tears from her eyes. She puts all she can into Sloane, white light glowing bright enough that it stings her closed eyes.

               She pants for breath, feels herself start to collapse into Sloane, but she has to do more, more-Sloane is hurt, and she hasn’t been able to help her-Sloane’s been trying so hard, even if it was wrong, and if she dies now-

               A hand grabs her arm as she pitches forward. She opens her eyes.

               Sloane is holding her up.

               “I think that’s enough for now,” she says, quiet.

               Hurley stares a moment, then finishes falling, resting her head on Sloane’s stomach and laughing helplessly. Sloane’s hand plays in her hair. It’s nice.

               She takes thirty seconds to try to calm down, then takes thirty more. Then Hurley sits up so Sloane isn’t stuck half-lying there. Sloane gets up, too, and Hurley is struck once again with the improbability of them both being alive.

               Sloane’s hair is greasy and full of twigs. She looks half-dead, even still, and Hurley would bet she hasn’t slept almost since finding the belt.

               Hurley doesn’t care. She puts a hand on Sloane’s cheek and kisses her, slow, soft. Sloane’s eyes drift half-closed and when Hurley pulls away Sloane leans back in and pulls her back, kissing her like she’s wanted this. Hurley thinks, maybe she has, and feels warm.

               It takes everything she has, but Hurley breaks it, leaning her forehead on Sloane’s.

               “We need to talk,” she says.

               “Yeah,” Sloane agrees, in a choked whisper.

               “Later,” Hurley says, and leans back.

               She takes a deep breath and stands up. She can’t quite bear to let go of Sloane so she rests a hand on her shoulder.

               Magnus is whistling tunelessly and Taako is conducting with his umbrella, completely unruffled by the fact that he has no concept of tempo or meter. Merle intently peruses his Extreme Teen Bible, and apparently no one had the heart to tell him it was upside down. All three are very red.

               Hurley clears her throat and they all jump. She giggles, and manages to stop herself before she trails off into hysterical laughter again.

               “What now?” she says.

               Magnus glances at his companions.

               “What happens now,” he says, slowly, “is somewhat up to you.” Merle grunts in agreement.

               They all look at each other and then huddle together to discuss something furiously for a moment. Then Merle emerges.

               “What we would suggest is…telling our employers Sloane died.”

               Hurley tightens her grip on Sloane’s shoulder.

               “If they know someone survived,” and then there’s static. Hurley wrinkles her nose and then she hears, “they’ll want to perform tests,” Magnus says. “And…” he glances again at his companions.

               “In a few days you’ll have forgotten all about this,” Taako says. Sloane tenses.

               “I suppose you can’t tell me how,” Hurley says.

               “So all of this-we’ll forget all of this?” Sloane snaps. “Everyone in the city will forget?” Hurley takes her hand.

               Magnus says, “It might be better for you to forget.”

               Sloane purses her lips. “Yeah, it just. It shouldn’t be that easy. I _hurt_ people,” she says. “I hurt you,” she says to Magnus, and closes her eyes.

               Taako steps forward. “We’ve seen all types of people tempted by these things,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

               Sloane opens her eyes, and Magnus half-grins. “I don’t think you’ll forget everything, anyway,” he says, gesturing to their linked hands. Sloane quirks the corner of her mouth up in reply.

               There’s a moment of quiet, then Hurley sighs.

“We’ll forget you, too, won’t we?” she says.

Magnus looks at Taako uneasily.

“Maybe?” he says.          

               She takes a moment to run her thumb over Sloane’s, then launches herself at Magnus and pulls Taako and Merle into the hug one by one.

               “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you. If you ever need anything, you come get me. Whether I remember or not.”                

               “We will,” says Merle. Magnus hugs her just a little tighter.

               “Okay,” Hurley says, and lets go. “Okay.”

               She takes Sloane’s hand again. “You have a way back to…?” She doesn’t really know where they work or who they work for.

               “Yeah,” Magnus says, grinning. “Our ride should be here soon.” He looks at them, intent. “Take care of each other, okay?”

               They nod, and Hurley squeezes Sloane’s hand. Sloane murmurs a choked thank you, and then Hurley turns away, towards the city.

***

They make it halfway back to the garage before Sloane’s swaying on her feet, and Hurley demands they stop. She settles Sloane in against a building and paces.

               “Does anyone know you’re the Raven who would tell the police?”

               “You,” Sloane says, the corner of her mouth turned up, and Hurley rolls her eyes.

               “I _am_ the police. Doesn’t count. Anyone else?”

               “Nah.”

               “Okay,” Hurley says. “Can you keep going?”

Sloane staggers to her feet and leans against Hurley. They make it a few more blocks before Sloane stops, face drawn.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Everyone who got hurt-everyone who _died_ , they’ll be forgotten too? Their families won’t ever know what happened to them?”

Hurley pauses a moment too long. Sloane’s face contorts. She staggers away from Hurley and vomits into the alleyway. Hurley moves to hold back her hair, but Sloane shakes her head and wipes her mouth on her sleeve. She leans a little more heavily on Hurley.

               “It’s not fair.”

               They walk a few paces.

               “We could make a list,” Hurley says. “Before we forget.”

               “Do something for the families?” Sloane ventures.

               “Yeah.”

               They keep walking. Eventually, Sloane nods. It’s quiet the rest of the way back.

***

               It’s dark by the time they get there, which is just as well because Hurley expects Sloane to sleep for a long, long time. She’s exhausted too, after having spent more energy than was wise healing Sloane and dragging them both back to the city.

               There’s a bucket of water in the corner and Hurley sits Sloane down on the edge of the bed. She cleans Sloane’s face and gets most of the leaves out of her hair before she lets her lie down. Hurley is thinking half-heartedly about trying to tidy the place up or get some food for them before she collapses but there’s a hand on her sleeve, and Sloane says, “Stay.”

               “Okay,” Hurley says, with a debilitating rush of relief. She collapses onto the bed and feels Sloane’s fingers curl around her wrist as she falls asleep.

***

               Hurley wakes slowly. It’s either still dark or dark again, she can’t tell. Though she’d guess the latter. She rolls over and looks at Sloane, uses her free hand to smooth back Sloane’s hair. There’s no response, and Hurley’s heart jumps into her throat even though she expected Sloane to sleep for a long time. She feels for her pulse and relaxes when it’s there, even stronger than yesterday. Hurley lets herself just look at Sloane for a few minutes, back in her own bed, safe. She smooths her hair back again, unbearably fond. Then she pries Sloane’s fingers off her wrist.

               Hurley worries Sloane will wake up alone, but then again she expects her to sleep for longer than a day. She goes out to get food.

***

               It goes on like that for another day, Hurley staying as close as she can. She had just remembered she hadn’t reported in to the Captain for too long when Sloane groans.

               “Hurley?” she calls, a note of panic in her voice, but Hurley hurries over to the bed.

               “I’m here,” Hurley says.

               “It’s still gone?” Sloane asks, still distraught.

               “Yeah,” Hurley says. “We’re both okay.”

               “I’m sorry,” Sloane says, and tears start rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”        

               Hurley sits on the bed and gathers Sloane up as best as she can, with Sloane’s height. She doesn’t say that it’s okay, because it isn’t yet, not quite, but she knows Sloane wasn’t at fault, that Sloane was scared, and Hurley rocks her back and forth a little as she cries.

               “You never gave up on me,” Sloane says into Hurley’s shirt.

               Hurley laughs. “Did you not hear anything I said back there? I love you, like, a lot. More than friend-love.”                

               “Even after…?”

               “Yeah.” Hurley pulls back to look Sloane in the eye. “I meant what I said. You’re not a killer, Sloane. The belt was.”

               Sloane doesn’t make eye contact.

               Hurley takes a deep breath. “Right before we, uh, saved you, Magnus-the guy with the axe?”

               Sloane nods.

               “He said-he said you were my family.”

               Sloane doesn’t move for one terrifying moment, and then she’s crying again. She brings a hand over her mouth. She looks at Hurley and pales.

               “Oh, god,” she moans. “You almost-I remember now, you almost…jumped…”

               “You’re my family,” Hurley says, soft.

               Sloane laughs, incredulous, once. Twice. Then she buries her face back into Hurley’s shoulder. Hurley breathes in Sloane’s scent, and all at once the weeks she sent staring at the ceiling of the garage, wondering if she was alive, come rushing back. She curls tighter into Sloane and cries.

               It’s only with Sloane sitting there, conscious, that Hurley finally lets go. She lets herself cry, even after Sloane’s stopped. Then she pulls back, tries to smile, thinks about contacting the Captain.

               Sloane keeps her there with a light grip on her wrist and a hand on her chin. Hurley shudders, despite herself, and thinks about that night on the cliff, before any of this happened.

               Sloane leans in and kisses her, slowly, giving her room to back off. Hurley moves forward, half-crawling into Sloane’s lap, and kisses back. She leans into Sloane until Sloane’s back hits the bed, and Hurley’s pinning her down. She looks at Sloane, her hair fanned out beneath her, and can’t quite believe this is happening. She kisses her once, twice, and pulls back for air. She leans down to kiss her more-preferably, they would never stop kissing, in Hurley’s opinion-but she turns her head away just in time to yawn dramatically.

               Sloane giggles, then turns her own head away to snort. Hurley laughs too, collapsing onto Sloane and then rolling next to her. They laugh until they’re out of breath, and Hurley rolls onto her side to look at Sloane.

               “I missed you,” Sloane says.

               “I missed you too,” Hurley says, and swallows past the lump in her throat. Sloane rolls over to look at her.

               “Stay? Work can wait another day.”

               “How did you know,” Hurley says, deadpan.

               “Work, work, work, that’s me,” Sloane parrots, and laughs again. “C’mere.”

               Hurley scoots over and Sloane wraps her up in her arms. Sloane _does_ give good hugs.

               She’s almost asleep when she thinks she hears “I love you too.” She’s not sure, but she doesn’t have to be, because Sloane’s warm and there and they’re both alive.

               Sloane’s right. Work can wait; it all can wait.

 

They’ve got so much time.

**Author's Note:**

> uh hey come question my sloane/hurley headcanons or cry with me @ zevraanarainai.tumblr.com
> 
> title from Dry the River's "No Rest"


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